


The Dread Wolf Took Her

by RogueLioness



Series: Kiana Trevelyan One Shots [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Deals With The Devil, F/M, Freeform, Kind of a dark future?, One Shot, Solas is basically Hades and Trevelyan his Persephone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:36:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6894043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueLioness/pseuds/RogueLioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She loves him, but she never wanted to see his face again. Too bad he didn't feel the same way.</p><p>Be wary when you bargain with the Dread Wolf...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dread Wolf Took Her

This was not how she expected to see his stronghold.

Well. 

No.

She hadn’t expected to see it at all.

_Actually…_

She didn’t _know_ what she had expected. That was her problem. Had never given a thought to how it would all end. She had hoped, desperately hoped, that he would see what she tried to show him, that he would understand. Despite her best efforts, she could never truly see him as her enemy, couldn’t see him as a big, bad wolf.

Her lips curled into a mocking smile. Clearly, he didn’t suffer from the same issues.

And in doing so, she had underestimated his determination to turn back the clock, to return the world to a state he was familiar with, and she had failed to protect those who looked up to her.

Maybe it was fitting that she offered herself up to the Dread Wolf’s jaws, after all.

The guards by her side were elegantly dressed in plated armor, their weapons thrumming with a magic that was vaguely familiar. She felt the wispy trails slither along her skin, causing goosebumps, and assumed it was their way of prodding her along.

They weren’t impatient. They weren’t rough. They knew, just as she did, that there was nowhere for her to run, nowhere for her to hide. They knew she was helpless, the enchanted cuffs around her wrists serving as more than mere bindings.

 _You care too much for your own good_ , he’d told her once. He was right. He usually was. And oh, he’d had no qualms about taking advantage of that, of twisting it to serve his own needs.

She was still ashamed of how many nights she had spent in his bed in exchange for promises of safety for her friends.

It hadn’t felt shameful at the time. It hadn’t felt like a sacrifice, either. But it burned now, gnawed at her soul, that he had deliberately chosen that bargain.

But if the price of giving the people she looked after a safe place to live was the loss of her freedom, she would gladly pay it. She had no regrets, not for that at least.

She walked slowly, looking in all directions at her new home.

Her prison.

Pushing the panic from her mind, she pressed on, reaching the entrance to the great hall, where he waited. Her eyes roved his face, trying to read his mind. He looked regretful for a moment when his eyes landed on her shackles, but his face was otherwise neutral.

“I am here, as promised,” she spoke quietly.

He nodded. “I have sent the message to Dorian. Your people will be given Rivain.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Then it is done.” She looked around the empty hall. “Where am I to go?” she asked politely.

He hesitated. “Where would you like to go?” 

She shrugged. “ ‘Tis I who is your prisoner, Fen’harel,” she stated, and he winced at her words. 

“Do you see yourself that way?” he asked softly.

“Is there any other way I should see myself?” she countered.

He stepped closer to her, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. “Yes,” he whispered softly. “You are my heart. My love.”

She swallowed, tears springing to her eyes. “It’s not as easy as that,” she said. “You tore the world asunder. You forced us out of our homes, you destroyed families.” 

He remained unmoved. “I did nothing to your kind that they did not do to my People.”

“Your people did those things to themselves, too,” she reminded him quietly. “Was that not how things were in your Arlathan?” She sighed. “What’s done is done,” she murmured. “It matters little now. The bargain has been struck.”

He guided her through long corridors, walls covered with beautiful etchings, the lanterns made of crystal. She marvelled at the splendors, even as her heart wept. The man who had created them was not a stranger to her. He was still her Solas, the same Solas who spent hours upon days working on the breathtaking murals that had adorned Skyhold, sketching each out meticulously. She had saved every sketch of his for as long as she could, till her little village was attacked and burned to the ground. She had not been able to save them then.

But the man walking rigidly in front of her was not Solas. He was Fen’harel, the Dread Wolf, He Who Sundered The World. He was the man who shattered Tevinter, who razed Orlais, who had conquered Thedas and turned it over to the elves. He was the man who built cities from rubble through the sheer force of his will.

No, this was not Solas.

He had an entire wing to himself - that was to be expected, of course - and he tucked her arm in his as he showed her around. A library the size of her own room at Skyhold, a washroom far too opulent to be given such a mundane label. His bedroom was richly furnished, heavy silks gracing windows with glass so clear it seemed as though there was nothing in the frame at all, opulent rugs scattered carelessly on the floor.

 _The man who lived in these room was not Solas_ , she thought with a pang.

She didn’t ask where she was to sleep. The bed in the middle of the room was large enough to accommodate at least four people, and given her new status of _prisoner_ it seemed obvious what was expected of her… 

Still, it would not hurt to ask. It would force him to say it out loud, at the very least.

“Am I to share your bed?” Her voice was toneless.

He gazed at her. “If you wa-” He cut himself off. “Yes,” he said firmly, but there was the slightest of quavers in his voice.

“And what are my duties?” she asked.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” he swore, “I only want you to be happy, Kiana. I love you. You love me. Is it so difficult to comprehend?”

She raised her shackled hands. “You had me bound, because you feared I would not come,” she said softly, “enchanted these cuffs so I could not use my magic to escape. I gave you my word, yet these shackles remain. Yes, I love you,” her tone was gentle, “but you know that love alone isn’t enough, don’t you, Fen’harel?” She dropped her hands, the bracelets clinking. “Wasn’t it why you made the offer in the first place?”

His face hardened. “You will do as I ask, and see to my needs. You will have run of these rooms for the time being. If you prove yourself over time, you will be offered more freedom. You are free to entertain yourself however you wish when I am not around. Is that clear enough for you?” he asked caustically.

 _You are not my Solas_ , she thought, _so why do I love you still?_

“Yes,” she replied. Oh, but it stung, how it pricked her to know she was beholden to him, but she would never let him know, would never let him see.

She had learned, the hard way, to never let the Dread Wolf scent one’s weakness.

He lazily drew her to the window, and she automatically peered outside. There were no floating buildings, no crystal spires amidst the trees. For all he’d done, he had failed to bring back his Arlathan, and she felt a smugness in her chest. 

When she finally turned towards him, he was holding a goblet in his hands, a smirk on his face. Not the pleasant sort, the teasing kind that had once made her smile and kiss him playfully. This was sharp, dark, the kind that one associated with _trickster, deceiver, betrayer,_ and it had her stomach in knots. “Drink,” he said, offering it to her, his smirk growing bigger.

She gazed at him, and remembered what Merrill had once told her.

_Do not let the Dread Wolf catch your scent_  
_For if he does, he will give chase._

_Do not let the Dread Wolf chase you_  
_For if he does, he will catch you._

_Do not let the Dread Wolf catch you_  
_For if he does, he will drag you to his den._

_Do not let the Dread Wolf take you to his den_  
_For if he does, he will feed you._

_Do not let the Dread Wolf feed you_  
_For if he does_  
_You are bound to him for eternity._

She took the goblet, pleased that her fingers obeyed her command and did not tremble. Cupping it between hands suddenly turned to ice, she stared down at its contents. It was wine, the scent of it sweet and pleasant, but she could sense the magic that swirled within its depths.

She gazed up at him, and found him looking down at her, his eyes intense, his mouth still smirking. “Do not let the Dread Wolf feed you,” she murmured, before bringing the goblet to her lips and drinking deeply, the wine and magic flowing down her throat into the pit of her stomach.

Satisfied, he gently prised the cup from her hands, and set it on the windowsill. He curled his fingers around her wrist, pulling her closer till she was pressed flush against his chest. “For if he does,” he said, his voice low and deep, “you are bound to him for eternity.” 

He captured her lips with his, sealing the promise.


End file.
